


polio blues

by peterandhispirate



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Angst, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 06:45:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: "I got it at my birthday party." Tyler snorted, but there was no humor in it. "My own goddamn birthday party. Can you believe that shit? If I ever find out which kid gave it to me, I'm gonna kill 'em."





	polio blues

Josh swam in the wrong lake.

Granted, his mother had begged him time and again to stay home, meaning he had no one to blame but himself. And maybe God, even if it was wrong.  
  
He couldn't help it. He was so lost. Lost, and desperate, and angry. He must have done something wrong - something worthy of such a capital punishment.  
  
He always was afraid of that lake. It was too dark, too deep, and (supposedly) full of dead bodies. Josh had never glimpsed one himself, but it didn't matter. He'd see enough of them in the hospital.  
  
Hospital. What an ugly fucking word. Tyler always joked that the word 'spit' was in it for a reason. Then again, maybe he was just biased. Most kids got dragged there when they fell off their bike and broke an arm or a wrist or an ankle. They got a cast and a funny story to tell. They got to go home.  
  
That was the worst part. Wanting to go home.  
  
So bad.  
  
At first, Josh thought it would be a one-day thing. Maybe he just had the flu. Maybe it was pneumonia. Maybe it was normal to wake up soaked in sweat, too weak to lift an arm or a leg or even a hand.  
  
Maybe he swam in the wrong lake.  
  
"Joshua." His mother's voice was made of gravel and yet clear as a bell years down the line. "Joshua, baby, you've got to get up. Can you do that for me? Please?"  
  
But he couldn't. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, and the frustration of it drove him to tears. They were both crying in his room. They were both helpless.  
  
_Hospital_. Ugly word. Vicious word. _He needs to go to the hospital._  
  
So they went, Josh and his parents, and he stared out the window the whole way there. Muscles robbed of power and vocal chords fried with fear, staring was the only thing he could do.   
  
He wondered if his mom wanted to turn around and say _I told you so_. Probably not. She loved him too much to feel anything but terror.  
  
It was almost humiliating, the way he was dragged through the front doors by his folks like some kind of ragdoll. Teenagers are funny that way. They can be at the weakest point of their entire lives and still find the strength to feel embarrassed.   
  
Being shoved into a wheelchair? Embarrassing. Crying for his mom? Embarrassing. Listening to her sob goodbye while he was wheeled away and crying even harder? So fucking embarrassing.  
  
God wanted to break him down. God wanted to humiliate him.  
  
(It was working! Jesus Christ, it was working!)  
  
Truth be told, no matter how bad people begged for detailed horror stories, Josh barely remembered the iron lung. He remembered getting a few visitors - creased faces peering down at him - but that was all.  
  
Something he _did_ recall in graphic detail was getting transferred to the second floor. Such a sad thing to be excited about, but exciting all the same. He was shy, always had been and always would be, but holy shit, the loneliness was enough to swallow him whole.  
  
And yet he still felt his insides twist into a ball right before the nurse opened the door. What if his roommates didn't like him? What if he was the worst case among them? What if they teased him or belittled him or (God forbid) ignored him entirely?  
  
He was greeted instantly.  
  
There were two other boys holed up in the room, and the one with the sharp little cat face gave Josh a two-finger salute from his bed and said, "Godspeed, soldier."  
  
The second boy didn't say much of anything. Josh didn't mind. It would've been hard to top that.  
  
He smiled at them both sheepishly as he was wheeled to the empty bed by the wall, hoping they wouldn't notice how red his face got when the nurse struggled to help him out of the wheelchair. As soon as his lifeless limbs were safely sprawled across the mattress, she took off without a word, already moving on to the next weepy mess of a child.  
  
The first thing the boy with the sharp face did once she left was lean over and stick out a hand.  
  
"Tyler," he said, his entire arm wracked with shakes; Josh reached out to meet him, bridging the gap between their beds.  
  
"Hi Tyler," he puffed through his teeth. "I'm Josh."  
  
They exchanged grins before unraveling clammy fingers, falling back against their beds like they just ran a marathon.   
  
"So how'd you get it?" was the first thing Tyler asked once he caught his breath, curious face turned in Josh's direction. It shouldn't have been a confusing question, and yet he found himself momentarily speechless. Maybe he still wasn't used to it - any of it. Maybe he'd never truly adjust.  
  
But then he found himself again. No matter what, he could always do that much. He said, "Guess I swam in the wrong lake. What about you?"  
  
"I got it at my birthday party." Tyler snorted, but there was no humor in it. "My own goddamn birthday party. Can you believe that shit? If I ever find out which kid gave it to me, I'm gonna kill 'em."  
  
"If this doesn't kill you first," the second boy piped up out of nowhere, sending Josh's heart barreling into his stomach like a bullet from a shotgun.  
  
Tyler didn't even bother turning over to look at him. He just sent his eyes rolling and said, "Gee, thanks for the optimism, wise guy."  
  
"Just being realistic."  
  
"Yeah, well, your realism isn't making us feel a whole lot better," Tyler snapped, and Boy Number Two promptly shut his mouth.  
  
Josh never did learn his name.  
  
                                            ;  
  
The hot packs were easily the worst part of the polio experience. Looking back on it, those few minutes of discomfort were what saved Josh from a lifetime of total paralysis, but at the time they just stood for pain.  
  
Nobody hated it more than Tyler.  
  
Twice a day they got the treatment, and twice a day he put up a fight. It was a goddamn miracle none of the nurses ever snapped and smacked him upside the head. It always took three of them to get the job done: two holding him down and one wrapping his arms and legs in the steaming hot army blankets they all dreaded so much.   
  
Considering Tyler's condition, it was almost impressive how much trouble he gave them. It would've been entertaining if Josh wasn't listening to him kick and scream like he was being drawn and quartered.   
  
"Get away from me," he whimpered every time they approached his bed with the blankets in hand, but the whimpering turned to howling before long: "I said leave me alone, God dammit! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!"  
  
_It hurts!_  
  
Josh hid his face in a pillow on more than one occasion, hands clamped over his ears to block out the sobbing. And when the nurses finally left, he would peer over at Tyler's mangled shipwreck of a body, curled up like a dying dog with sweat plastering hair to his forehead.  
  
Twice a day. Every day.   
  
On one afternoon in particular Josh felt compelled to slide out of bed, feet hitting the floor and sending him lurching forward. Reaching out, he caught himself on the edge of Tyler's bed, desperate hands gripping the sheets so tight that his knuckles drained of color. Startled, Tyler rolled from one side to the other and found Josh struggling to pull his lower half up onto the mattress; Tyler grabbed him by the biceps and hauled him to safety without missing a beat.  
  
"The fuck are you doing?" he croaked once they were laying nose-to-nose, knee-to-knee, chest-to-chest.  
  
Josh's smile was hopelessly gentle and yet a force to be reckoned with. "Just sayin' hi."  
  
Because Josh was a compassion-fueled machine. Because Josh didn't like seeing people even remotely upset. Because, even if Tyler rolled his eyes and said _okay weirdo_ , Josh knew he needed someone.  
  
So Josh was there. Right there. Close enough for Tyler to trace his freckles and find the map to heaven.  
  
They laid together in mutual silence for awhile, shotgunning infected air and hazy smiles until they passed out - one of the few tender moments God would allow in such a place.  
  
When the nurses found them, they didn't say a word.  
  
                                            ;  
  
Christmas rolled around, and Josh got the best gift he could possibly ask for: a two-day trip back home. His mom hugged him like he was a soldier returning from the trenches, paying no mind to the crutches or the leg braces or the tears in his eyes.  
  
"My baby," she whispered, holding him tighter. "My sweet baby."  
  
Naturally, his younger siblings were full of questions - Jordan especially. Mrs. Dun tried her best to get after them for it, insisting that Josh didn't want to spend his Christmas talking about the horrors of the hospital, but he assured them he didn't mind.   
  
He'd be answering people's questions for the rest of his life.  
  
_Do the nurses ever yell at you? Is the food good? Have you seen people die?_  
  
"Have you made any friends?"  
  
"Just one. His name's Tyler."  
  
Jordan told him that when they went out, people didn't look at them the same. Josh said he was sorry.  
  
He was the one who swam in the wrong lake.  
  
The presents he received were all very practical, considering the situation. Books. A watch. A stuffed rabbit his sisters insisted had magic powers. He loved every last gift - he just didn't have the heart to tell them that it would all go in the incinerator once he got better.  
  
_If_ he got better. God willing.  
  
It was odd, sleeping in his own bed again. Not bad, necessarily. Just strange. He was so used to hearing little kids and tiny babies cry a floor below him that the quiet of his childhood home bordered on eerie. Like all those kids had died and he was the only one left.  
  
He thought of Tyler.  
  
Christmas was over almost as soon as it began, and Josh found himself telling his family goodbye - again. Stay safe, wash your hands, don't go swimming, I love you, I love you, I love you.  
  
And just like that he was back on the second floor.  
  
He practically leapt into Tyler's twig arms when they were reunited, only leaping wasn't really an option so he smiled at him real big instead. Tyler smiled back, but without teeth.  
  
"How was your Christmas?" Josh asked once the nurse left and he was safely in bed, propped up on his elbows with a sunshine grin on his face. "Did you get anything good?"  
  
Tyler's mouth twitched. "Everything I could ever ask for."  
  
Josh would later be informed that Tyler didn't go home at all. It seemed his folks had no interest in spending their holidays with the sad, helpless version of their son. After all, he'd only put a damper on things.   
  
So Tyler spent Christmas on the ward, wheeling himself from room to room to keep the other unfortunate kids company. He wore a Santa hat and everything.  
  
But not once did he tell Josh to shut up about his wonderful Christmas at home. Not once did he roll his eyes when Josh showed him his watch and his books and his rabbit. Not once did he make him feel guilty.  
  
Not once.  
  
                                            ;  
  
Josh got discharged on Valentine's Day. His right leg never fully recovered, but that was a smile price to pay for living. He spent his last few hours at the hospital tucked under Tyler's arm, face buried in his neck as if he was embarrassed.   
  
But he wasn't embarrassed. Just sad to leave Tyler behind when he deserved to go home more than anyone.  
  
When a nurse poked her head in and told him it was time to go, Josh felt Tyler's ribcage collapse in a sigh, tenderly bittersweet. Josh almost felt obligated to apologize, but he knew Tyler would tell him to stop being ridiculous and shut the hell up. So he slipped out from under his arm without saying a word, reaching for the crutches propped up against his bed. Then he glimpsed the stuffed rabbit sitting patiently atop his pillow and paused.  
  
Turning back to Tyler, he held out the rabbit and said, "Here."  
  
Tyler's eyebrows knitted together. "What's this for?"  
  
"He's magic, remember?"  
  
The smile that cracked Tyler's melancholy mouth was small, but a victory nonetheless. And when he went to take the magic bunny, he grabbed Josh by the arm and pulled him in for a goodbye kiss on the cheek. Another small victory.  
  
"Godspeed, soldier," was the last thing he said before Josh left.  
  
They never saw each other again - not in person, anyway. Josh looked for Tyler online almost sixty years later, but the friend request he sent was politely declined.   
  
Josh wasn't hurt. He understood that he represented by far the worst period of Tyler's life: hospitals and hot packs and parents that didn't visit.  
  
Goodbye kisses.  
  
But he knew Tyler had a wife who loved him. He knew he was still in a wheelchair and would be until he died. He knew he had kids.   
  
And most of all, Josh knew that Tyler's profile picture wasn't a photo of himself but a portrait of a small gray rabbit.  



End file.
